Elin ap Hywel
Translator
on Lyrikline: 5 poems translated
from: الولزية to: الانجليزية
Original
Translation
Murmuron
الولزية | Menna Elfyn
Sut mae byw yn drugarog
yn y byd hwn?
Dyna’r cwest, a’r cwestiwn.
Sut mae cerdded yn ddistaw
heb waedd yn y gwyll?
Na’r un cysgod erchyll.
A throedio’r byd hwn fel pe bai
baban yn cysgu yn y ‘stafell drws nesa’,
fel y rhown y byd rhag iddo ddeffro.
Murmur bendithion
o gylch y muriau
A gwres serch yn ei seiliau.
from: Murmur
Tarset: Bloodaxe, 2012
Audio production: Wales Literature Exchange
Murmurs
الانجليزية
How to live and breathe with mercy?
A quandary, a question.
How to walk lightly
without a cry in the dark,
or even a shadow,
and with each step
be aware of the child sleeping next door:
how we’d give the world, not to wake her.
Murmuring blessings
around the walls,
love in its foundation.
Drws yn Epynt
الولزية | Menna Elfyn
Mae yna ddrws sydd yn cau yn ei gyfer
a drws sydd yn drysu amser,
a’r gnoc sydd yn destun dwyster.
Ac er mor anial oedd ei hannedd,
yr aelwyd hon oedd man cyfannedd,
dan ddrws doi curwynt tangnefedd.
Nid adwy, na chroesi rhyd a orfu,
na gelyn—dim ond cennad deddfu;
“Lle perffaith i las fyddin i saethu.”
Yna, ar frys gyda gwŷs, cael gwared
â phreswylwyr y tir, ar drum nodded,
wrth ildio i’r lifrai gwargaled.
Nid heb lef. Cyn troi allan, dyma ofyn
“A ga’ i’r drws a’r bwlyn i’r bwthyn?”
Yn waglaw, disgynnodd i’r dyffryn.
Eto weithiau, ar lym awel, clywn ddychryn—
brath y drws yn agor, cau’n gyndyn.
“Gwrando pa drwst.” “Daear a gryn.” Gan erfyn.
Tarset: Bloodaxe, 2012
Audio production: Wales Literature Exchange
A Door in Epynt
الانجليزية
There’s a door which closes by itself,
a door that deludes time,
one knock and there’s fighting talk.
And although she lived in the back of beyond
this hearth was her harmony,
its underlay, the chill of tranquillity.
No stand-off or ford to cross,
no enemy but the purchase order:
“A perfect place, this, for a squaddie’s mess.”
Armed with warrants, in haste they removed
the people from the land. Then the hills of refuge
surrendered to the combats’ heavy outfits.
Not without a plea. Before turning her back:
“May I keep the door to the cottage?”
Empty handed, she left for the village.
Yet, when the east wind howls, I hear terror—
the door slam shut and, then, flung open.
Listen to its sounds. Earth shakes. Pleading.
Dysgu Cymraeg i Awen Dylan Thomas
الولزية | Menna Elfyn
Un i wneud hwyl am ei phen oedd hi unwaith,
Wrth gael ei gweld
Mewn parc gwag—
Hen ddynes grwca heb ei medru hi.
Ond heddi, nid felly y mae;
Eistedd wrth ei hochr a wnaf,
a dysgu iddi eiriau pwysig
Ei chael i ddweud ar fy ôl,:
Coed, O, rhai cadarn ydynt,
Cedyrn y Cymry;
a dŵr, sbiwch fel y mae dŵr yn treiglo Y d-d-d- yn disgyn, wedi tasgu o bistyll.
ac yna adar. dysgaf iddi ddau air – Trydar ac adar;
Yr adenydd a’r ehedeg;
ac ni fydd rhai’n gweiddi geiriau cras ar ei hôl,
achos yn ei genau bydd geiriau i’w chynnal.
a byddaf fel ceidwad y parc yn mynd tua thre, gan wybod nad yw’n ddigartre,
ac o bell,clywaf eiriau’n seinio
dros bob lle:
Yn Abertawe.
Coed cadarn,
Cedyrn y Cymry,
dŵr, ac adar,
a bydd ei geiriau‘n ddiferion,
O bistyll,
Yn codi, fel adenydd sy’n ehedeg.
a bydd ei ffon o hyn allan
Yn pigo dail marw o’r parc
a’u troi yn las,
Mor las â thafod hen wraig grwca yn y parc.
Tarset: Bloodaxe, 2007
Audio production: Wales Literature Exchange
Teaching Dylan Thomas’s Muse to speak Welsh
الانجليزية
Once she was a mockery,
the crone in the empty park, old, impotent, hunchbacked —
but today things are different;
I sit beside her,
teaching her words of weight — drawing her to say them after me: Trees, oh how mighty they are, with the might of the Welsh:
and dŵr, see how water purrs
in Welsh when it’s splashed from a fountain.
and then, I teach her two words –
adar and trydar,
the wings and the light;
and now no one will shout harsh words after her because the words will be in her mouth.
I will be the park-keeper, going homewards knowing that she is not homeless;
far away I hear her pronounce:
coed cadarn, cedyrn y cymry, dŵr and adar;
and her words will be
drops flung from a fountain, rising like flying wings.
Now her stick,
spearing dead leaves in the park will turn them, turn herself
into a living green.
Gras Ar Ras
الولزية | Menna Elfyn
Gofalodd bod eu dillad hwy yn gras,
Eu halio uwch y reilen ger y tân,
Gofalwyd nad oedd bai ar unrhyw was.
Ar ambell fore, cael a chael ar ras
I’r ysgol, bwyd ar hast, a’r plant mor fân
Gofalodd bod eu dillad hwy yn gras.
Colli cwsg am sbel a’r plant yn y pâs,
Gwellhad drachefn, gwrid ar wynebau glân,
Gofalwyd nad oedd bai ar unrhyw was.
Ffraeo ‘da ffrindiau, ond dim byd yn gas,
Cychwyn pob bore gyda nodau cân,
Gofalodd bod eu dillad hwy yn gras.
Wedi’r ing mor bitw oedd geiriau gras,
holltwyd cwm, pob teulu yn ddiwahân;
gofalodd bod eu dillad hwy yn gras
gofalwyd nad oedd bai ar unrhyw was.
Tarset: Bloodaxe, 2017
Audio production: Wales Literature Exchange
Air & Grace
الانجليزية
She made quite sure their clothes had all been aired,
hauled them above the railing, near the fire,
making quite sure that no one was to blame.
On some days, getting ready was a race:
a piece of toast in hand for school, the kids so young.
She made quite sure their clothes were freshly aired.
Nights without sleep, they all had the whooping cough.
Then they’d recover, their faces, rosy, fresh.
She made quite sure that no-one was to blame.
A falling out with friends, nothing too bad.
Each morning opened with a note of song.
She made quite sure their clothes were freshly aired.
After the grief, how hollow the words of grace,
The valley split, each family just the same;
she made quite sure that their clothes were aired.
It was ensured—no servant was to blame.
Y cynta' i weld y môr
الولزية | Menna Elfyn
Bod y cynta’ i weld y môr
yna’r agosa down
at ddarganfod yn llygad agored
yr arlais cyn inni ddidol
yr aeliau sydd rhwng nef a daear,
gwagle a gweilgi.
Awn yn llawen tua’i chwerthin:
cyrraedd at ymyl fflowns ei chwedlau,
tafodau glas yn traethu gwirebau.
Am ennyd syllwn heb allu deall
ble mae’r dyfnder, y dwyfol nad yw’n datgan
ei hun wrth swatio’n y dirgel.
A gweld o’r newydd, nad yw’r moroedd
yn llai mirain, er i longau ddryllio
ar greigiau, cans yno bydd y cyffro
sy’n iasu yn ein geni’n frau o’r newydd.
Gweld y môr gynta’ yw’r cynta’
y down at ddarganfod gwir ryfeddod.
from: Perffaith Nam / Perfect Blemish
Tarset: Bloodaxe, 2007
Audio production: Wales Literature Exchange
Seeing the Sea
الانجليزية
To be the first to see the sea
Is the closest we may ever come
To open-eyed discovery.
There she lies, a temple
helping us draw the line
between heaven and earth,
nothing and oceans.
We travel gladly towards her laughter
reaching the skirt-hem of her stories
where her tongues tell truths.
For a time, we stare, not understanding
her depths, this divinity who will
not reveal herself, hugging her secret
and see, anew, that a sea
is no less beautiful because ships
founder on rocks, because, look,
in her split-second waves
we grow younger with each frisson,
seeing the sea
for the first time
is the closest we may come
to the wonder of eyes opened.